White Bird
by ptdf
Summary: "The mother blames one Peter Pan," said Morpheus. The pixie queen considered this. "There was an orphan boy, once. A fine musician."
1. House Number 14

**1\. House Number 14**

* * *

The pale gentleman stormed out of the public house, the blood gem on his tie pin aglow.

"Change yer mind, then?" called the lady resting against the wall, face scarred by the pox. "Always come back, they do." Her dreams tasted of opium and regret, a foundling left at church steps.

He walked past her curses.

A raven alighted on his shoulder, black beady eye studying him while a mouse tail disappeared down her beak. Wisely, she said nothing.

"Do I seem lonely, Jessamy?"

"No, sire," said the raven. "Why else would you collect raven companions?"

The gem flared. "I am not in a jesting mood, Jessamy. Perhaps it is time to collect anew."

"Poe would make a good candidate, sire. Have you read him?"

"I am Prince of Stories. All stories begin in my realm."

"So you've read him?"

Morpheus coughed. "Not specifically. He dreamed often of his father."

"Adoptive father," said Jessamy, watching the gem cool.

"You were human before his time," said Morpheus. "How is it you have read him?"

Jessamy sighed. "You'd be surprised how often young men quote his work when they see me, if there are ladies nearby."

"The companions provide a mortal perspective," said Morpheus. "I have found it to be useful in discharging my responsibilities."

"As in that Doyle story," said Jessamy, "a Watson to your Holmes."

"Perhaps," said Morpheus. "To suggest I would require anything more…"

"Anthropocentric," said Jessamy. "Even among immortals you are in a class of your own. But you are not alone in that class. It's like that mad sun-god Aten, trying to murder his whole pantheon so he could be the only one. You were meant to be social."

"Have you met my family?" said Morpheus.

"Some," said Jessamy. "Your sister turned me into a butterfly. Not the insect, the dairy product."

"They can be… difficult," said Morpheus. "I may have peers, but befriending a mortal would be…"

"A human befriending an ant?," said Jessamy. "On the other hand, you just coughed back there, when you needn't breathe. You needn't even have a mouth."

"Mortals of this time and place have mouths, and breathe, and wear top hats," said Morpheus. "It is but a mask."

"I have a theory," said Jessamy. "I don't think there's any true you behind that mask. I think you are the Dream of humans in top hats, and the Dream of trolls under bridges, and the Dream of billy goats trying to cross. And maybe in some faraway realm you are the Dream of solitary creatures that seek no companionship. But humans and trolls and billy goats do. And so, in part, do you."

"Bridge trolls tend to be territorial," said Morpheus. "But I see you have given this some thought."

"Sustaining a unilateral friendship is exhausting," said Jessamy.

"I had not realized. I can only say…" Morpheus paused. "There is something wrong in the Dreaming."

"That is all you can say?" said Jessamy.

"Do you feel it?" said Morpheus.

"I feel someone trying to change the subject," said Jessamy.

"I fear we must postpone this conversation," said Morpheus, stopping. "There is an anomaly here."

Jessamy looked up at house number 14.

#

Morpheus climbed the steps and hit the knocker twice.

"Something in there is threatening the Dreaming and we're knocking?" said Jessamy. "Shouldn't we be getting your helm or something?"

"Let us first understand the situation," said Morpheus.

The door was opened by a young maid. She glanced at the raven, but seemed used to upper class eccentricity. "May I help you, sir?"

"I have business with the master of the house," said Morpheus, handing her coat, hat and cane.

"I'm not sure… of course, please come in," she said, leading them upstairs.

The nursery window was open despite the night chill. The beds were empty, the toys neatly arranged. A great Newfoundland dog with a nurse's cap slept on the rug while its owner slept in its kennel.

"Guest for Mr. Darling," the maid murmurred before retreating.

The lady in the armchair stood to greet them. "My apologies, sir, George didn't tell me he was expecting company. And this ordeal has taken such a toll on us all."

"It is I that beg your pardon, madam," said Morpheus looking around the room. "Can you tell me what happened? Perhaps I can be of assistance."

"He took them," said Mrs. Darling, collapsing back in the armchair. "He took our children."

"Who did?"

"Peter Pan," said Mrs. Darling, tearing up. "Flew them right out the window. If I'd listened to Nana," she added, turning to the dog. "If I'd left his shadow outside. If only..."

"I think the technical term is wacko," said Jessamy.

Mrs. Darling was not alarmed by a talking raven. Morpheus held her chin and looked into her eyes. "She is not in my sister's realm."

"You sure?" said Jessamy. "She's doing a pretty good impression."

"There are boundaries between the Waking and the Dreaming," said Morpheus. "The boundary has frayed. She lies stranded somewhere in between."

Mrs. Darling brushed his hand away. "I assure you, sir, this was no dream. Though I would dearly have wished it." She produced a skeleton leaf crumpled by worry. "It is still as green as the day they were taken. It is not of this world."

Morpheus examined the leaf. "Indeed it is not, madam. I must depart immediately."

"Can you find them?" asked Mrs. Darling.

"Perhaps, madam."

"Can you really do it?" Jessamy asked when they were back on the street.

"The children are most likely lost to the Dreaming or to the void between," said Morpheus.

"Oh," said Jessamy. "Case closed, then?"

"The tear is growing," said Morpheus. "It threatens both the Dreaming and the Waking. It must be stopped."

"It will be just like the Doyle story!" said Jessamy. "Do you think this Pan did it?"

"A local sprite, perhaps, or simply part of her fantasy," said Morpheus. "Whoever it was, they were strong enough to pierce the boundary."

"Can the leaf lead us to them?"

"It is part dream, part real," said Morpheus. "From a rather large tree, it would seem. I will disappoint you by asking the obvious: is there a park nearby? You lived here, once."

"Might as well have been a different continent," said Jessamy, looking down the street. "There's Kensington Palace, I hear they've opened the gardens to the public. I'd like to see what old King George would've said to that!"

#

The Gardens were locked for the night. Jessamy flew over the gate while Morpheus walked through it.

"Can you match the leaf to a tree?" asked Jessamy.

"No need," said Morpheus. "We are being watched."

"Really?" said Jessamy, looking around suspiciously. "Is it the trees?" she whispered.

"No, most of these are perfectly non-sentient," said Morpheus. "But I believe you are scaring them. Please wait by the gate."

"They fear the bird but not the man walking through metal bars?" said Jessamy.

"In this case, yes," said Morpheus.

"Suit yourself," said Jessamy, flying off.

Morpheus strolled alone down the path.

"Halt!" cried the fairy lancer, brandishing holly leaves. "No trespassing after Lock-out Time!"

"Sentinel," Morpheus said with the ring of wind chimes. He flexed dark leaf-like wings, the red jewel on his neck aglow. Even no more than a thumb-length in height, his presence was undiminished. "I have business with the Regent of this Realm."

The lancer blinked a few times, but lowered the holly. The trespasser was clearly of the Blood. "Yes, milord."

Morpheus followed him through brushes and flower patches to a palace built of many-colored glasses. A fairy-ring had been set up in the lawn before it, pixies dancing under the winter cherry lanterns. Those sitting in the surrounding toadstools whispered and pointed as they passed. At the center of the supper table sat a pixie with silver wings and dress, dark hair tied in a bun.

"Your Majesty," said the lancer, kneeling. "A lord requests audience."

"No common lord, Sharpleaf," said the Queen, her expression carefully neutral. "It has been long since you last graced these halls, Moon Gardener."

"Indeed, Queen Mab," said Morpheus, bowing. "I thought your people had departed this realm."

"Some did," said the Queen, "Others chose to stay. We were here before Normans and Danes, Romans and Celts. We will be here when their stone houses are dust and the wilds reclaim the land. Why do you seek audience?"

"I come to request your assistance," said Morpheus. "Children have gone missing."

"Please," said the Queen. "It must be centuries since we replaced changelings in cradles."

"The mother blames one Peter Pan," said Morpheus.

The Queen considered this. "There was an orphan boy, once. A fine musician. Must be long dead by now."

"I see," said Morpheus. "Does your sister still hold my gift?"

"You would have to ask her yourself," said the Queen, pointing to the sky. "Second star to the right and straight on until morning."

"Thank you," said Morpheus.

"Lord Shaper?" said the Queen. "My sister left this realm heartbroken. It will not please her to see you."

#

"Second star to the right?" Jessamy cried atop the fence. "What kind of address is that? To the right of which one? Alpha Centauri?"

"The address is perfectly sufficient," said Morpheus, tracing the park gate with his finger. White fire sprouted in its wake. "She is in the Dreaming."

"Well, why didn't we just go there first?" said Jessamy.

"Our relationship ended on… difficult terms," said Morpheus. "She did not wish to be found. Perhaps I did not wish to see."

"And you think she's the one behind this?" said Jessamy.

"Possibly," said Morpheus. "You may cross."

"You want me to talk to your possibly vengeful former lover for you? Maybe we should just let reality fray."

"No, Jessamy," said Morpheus, crossing into the throne room. "I need you to retrieve the helm. It will shrink to your needs."

"That's what I've been saying all along, take that pixie by storm!"

"I cannot," said Morpheus, dropping a fine chain with a red gem into small pouch around Jessamy's neck. "She resides in a land I fashioned for children. I set certain restrictions on entry. I find these are closed against me."

"But you made these restrictions," said Jessamy. "Surely you can unmake them?"

"Given enough time, yes," said Morpheus, outlining a new portal in white, a tropical island within. "Time we do not have. I must leave most of my power at the door. I will solve this from the inside. Should I fail, I need you waiting on the outside."

"But while you're in there," said Jessamy. "Won't you be, I don't know, _vulnerable_?"

"Inasmuch as one of my kind can be said to be vulnerable," said Morpheus. "Yes, I suppose I will be."

"I see," said Jessamy. "Be careful, sire."

"Thank you, Jessamy," said Morpheus. He crossed over.


	2. The Mermaid Lagoon

**2\. The Mermaid Lagoon**

* * *

The Wind that blows between the Worlds chills him as he falls. Reluctantly, he relinquishes power, certainty, identity. Weakness is frightening and strangely liberating. Restrictions on entry. He is almost as old as the Universe. He was never a child, exactly. But he was younger, once. And he had always been the Dream of saplings, and larvae, and children.

Water engulfed him, comfortably warm against his dark scales. He breathed it in, a half-remembered conversation on top hats. Beating his tail, he broke the surface.

The lagoon lapped on a sandy beach with palm trees. Someone was singing beautifully.

"Hello, little one."

He turned around. Mermaids basked on the rocks and played with rainbow bubbles.

"Do you have a name?" asked the redhead.

"Yes," he murmured. Many. Too many. Had they always felt this heavy? "Some call me Dream."

"Very appropriate," said the redhead, tussling his hair. "I'm Thelxiope. Xiope for short."

"Where am I?" asked Dream.

"This is Neverland," said Xiope.

"Neverland," Dream repeated, tasting the name. He streamed his fingers through the water. "I wasn't happy with the color, but I had other things to attend to. I should've finished the water." He brushed her hair. "You are not dreamstuff. You are not native to this land."

"No more than you," said Xiope.

"You were kidnapped?" asked Dream.

"We came willingly," said Xiope.

"Do you not miss home?" asked Dream.

"Sometimes," said Xiope. "We had such grand balls. There were many more eligible bachelors. Do you miss home?"

"I'm not sure," said Dream. "I think I have a duty to be there."

"You don't have a duty to be anywhere you don't want to be," said Xione. "How did you get here?"

"I made my own path," Dream said uncertainly. "I lost something along the way."

"Well, you're here now," said Xiope. "Come play with us."

Dream took her hand. He wanted nothing more than to play in the surf all day.

"You'll like it here," said Xiope. "It is always Sunday afternoon, never Monday. And Peter tells the most wonderful stories!"

The name echoed in his mind. "Peter Pan?" asked Dream. "He lives?"

"Very much so," said Xiope.

"I must find him" Dream said with sudden certainty.

"He is a land-dweller," said Xiope. "Little Panther would know, on Sunset Cliff. But what good would that do? Don't you want to be with us?"

He was overwhelmed by the desire to stay. Perhaps just a little…

"Enough!" cried Dream, the star in his eye flashing. He had names, if little else. Names with power. "Cast off your charm, sea witch. I am the Lurker in the Sunless Deep. I am the Bard of the Monsoon Wind. And I am thrall to no one."

"Face-shifter," said Xiope. "You are no merfolk."

"No," said Dream, swimming away. "Count yourself fortunate I have little time." _And even less strength_.

#

The naked boy walked among the tipis, brown skin painted red, yellow and white, black eyes surrounded by black circles. Mothers brought their children inside as he passed. He stopped in the clearing at the center of the camp. The chief stood across the campfire, feathered headdress stretching down his back, braves lined up behind him.

"Who trespasses unannounced in the fading light?" said the chief. "Have you earned the colors, boy? Have you fasted four nights, smoked the sacred calf pipe, danced for the sun?"

"I am Iktomi, father of stories, brother of the Storm," said Dream. "These colors are mine."

"Iktomi Webspinner," said the chief. "Where were you when we honored the spirits, even in exile? Where were you when we begged deliverance from this prison? You claim to be the Spider, yet I name you Coyote, father of lies. You will spin your tales no more. Seize him!"

The braves tasted of fear, but also desperation. Even with tomahawks blessed in earth, blood and spit, capturing him might not be possible, or forever curse the captor. In other days Dream could have built on that fear. Today, he turned and ran.

The brush cut and scraped him as passed, the braves crying out in chase. He dove into the bushes and hugged his knees, willing himself and small and silent. Small and silent.

The braves crashed through without stopping. Dream waited until the noise died down. Gingerly, he unfurled a leg, then another, then another. He lowered himself from the leaf, the silk thread golden in the sunset.

He stopped mid-air when a leaf crunched. A girl from the camp was looking directly at him. Dream stood still as she knelt and picked him up on the palm of her hand.

"You have a strong eye," said Dream.

"The grandmothers opened them," the girl said firmly. "Will you bite me?"

 _The venom will make you dream ever of drowning_ , he mused. "No. Will you crush me?"

"Is that even possible?" asked the girl.

"Probably," said Dream.

"I am Tiger Lily, daughter of Little Panther," she said. "If I don't crush you, will you forgive my father? He despairs he will never again see the land of our ancestors."

"If I fail, it will not matter," said Dream. "This land will unravel, your people will present your tattoos to the Owl Maker and walk the Sky Road."

"Our last tattooist died without an apprentice," said Tiger Lily, alarmed. "Father says we could have negotiated with a neighboring tribe, but here…"

"I will tell you a secret," Dream whispered. "She lets everyone in."

Tiger Lily was visibly relieved. "If I help you, will you take us home?"

"You are a brave one," said Dream, mandibles clicking. "Beware what you ask. While you have been here, the white man has lain rail and killed the buffalo. Your kin have sickened and dispersed. Here the game is plentiful."

"Even so, Grandfather Iktomi," said Tiger Lily. "It is our duty to be there."

"Very well," said Dream. "Can you take me to Peter Pan?"

"Peter is slain, poisoned," Tiger Lily said somberly. "His camp was raided by the pirates this morning. Many braves were lost to foul tactics. His men were captured."

"Pirates," said Dream, rubbing his forelegs thoughtfully. "I was hoping it wouldn't come to this. Do you know the pixie folk?"

"Father says they are dangerous and not to be trusted," said Tiger Lily.

"Your father is correct," said Dream. "I need to ask them a favor."

#

The ancient tree stood at the heart of the island, carved branches lit by wandering fireflies. It was deserted. Dream fluttered to a large round platform, golden dust cascading past it.

"It has been long, Lady Clarion," he said into the night.

"Not long enough." Glowing motes coalesced into a brunette pixie, golden dress and wings. "You dare come here?"

"As I recall, I invited you here," said Dream.

"As I recall, _I_ did not," said Clarion.

"I would not have come," said Dream, "but for the circumstances."

"I doubt," said Clarion, "any set of circumstances…"

The forest echoed with a massive clock tolling the hour.

"What trickery is this?" said Clarion.

"An intrusion from the Waking," said Dream. "It will get worse. I have travelled lightly, I cannot repair the boundary alone. I must ask for my gift back."

"You make no demands here," said Clarion, golden dust rising. "This is my hall, my place of power. I can make you suffer as I have suffered."

"It was not a demand, Lady, only a request," said Dream.

Clarion looked at his boyish face. "Were you ever really this young?"

"Briefly," said Dream. "Always."

"Curious how long imagined encounters turn out in the end," said Clarion, releasing the dust. "The dreamstone is no longer mine."

Dream frowned. "Regardless of your feelings for me, I hoped you would have known better than to trade it away."

"It was stolen," said Clarion.

"Stolen?" said Dream. "How?"

"We were newly come to this land," said Clarion. "We grieved the friends and family we had left behind. One of my daughters grieved more than most, particularly for the Court musician."

"Peter," said Dream.

Clarion nodded. "She begged me to bring him with us, but I refused. No humans, even if he was betwixt and between."

"Not fully human?" said Dream. "What was his parentage?"

"I know not," said Clarion. "In the old balls, he always seemed more bird than boy. She took the stone and brought him anyway. They brought others."

"You did not hunt them down?" asked Dream.

"I could explain what it is like to love someone more than yourself," said Clarion. "But I fear you would not understand the concept. Peter wouldn't, either. You have that in common: charming, self-centered. Unbearably cocky."

"Peter was slain by pirates," said Dream.

"Oh," said Clarion.

"I must find your daughter.


	3. The House Under the Ground

**3\. The House Under the Ground**

* * *

The firefly guide stopped in an unremarkable patch of forest and looked around. Dream was beginning to fear it lost when it disappeared into a tree hollow. He followed it to a large underground room with mushroom stools, a nevertree growing in the center. The only light came from a small recess in the wall, where they startled a blond pixie. Satisfied, the guide left.

"Gentlemen knock before entering a lady's home," she chided, pulling the curtain around her. "Who are you?"

"Your people called me Moon Gardener, in the Old Land," said Dream, fluttering to the nevertree.

"You're too young to remember the Old Land," she said, turning her back. "I'm Tinker Bell."

"I've come for the dreamstone," said Dream.

"Oh, that thing," said Tinker Bell. "It's with Peter."

"Peter is dead," said Dream.

"He should be," she Tinker Bell. "But I drank the poison."

"Yet you live," said Dream.

"Because he wanted me to," said Tinker Bell. "Real and make-believe tend to blur around him."

"It's the stone," said Dream.

"I thought it meant something, that this time he would realize," said Tinker Bell. "But he's off rescuing the other girl and the lost boys. He should have left me dead."

"You must take me to him," said Dream.

"And why would I do that?" said Tinker Bell.

"Because you are responsible," said Dream. "The boundary…"

The floor disappeared, they were falling past a great clock tower to the gaslit pavement below.

Tinked Bell grabbed his hand, slowed his drop. "What's happening?!"

"The boundary frays," said Dream. "We need to go back."

"The path is closed," said Tinker Bell, looking at the overcast night sky.

"There is another," said Dream, pulling her.

In the streets, pedestrians and horses screamed away from the giant ticking crocodile. Even so, some slept through the ruckus. A schoolboy dreamed he was a great detective, his strictest teacher the archnemesis. A teacher dreamed she was a great detective, her most troublesome pupil the archnemesis. An author dreamed one of his characters had become famous, while he himself had been forgotten. He ran down an unending shelf, scanning book backs – the character's name in block capitals, his own nowhere to be found. In increasing despair, he crashed into a tall, thin librarian with elfin ears.

"I beg your pardon," said the author, noticing the book he was holding. "But I never wrote about his wedding!"

"Perhaps it was for the best," said the librarian. "I found it a bit derivative. Do not fret, Arthur. Good authors will be outlived by their work. Besides… Master!"

"Carry on, Lucius," said Dream, flying by with Tinker Bell in hand. They flew up a spiral stone staircase and into the throne room.

"Sire!" cawed Jessamy. "Things are falling apart here. Did it work?"

"Not quite, Jessamy," said Dream.

Dream and Tinker Bell dove into the white-outlined portal.

#

Tinker Bell led Dream to a round bay, steel singing aboard the anchored _Jolly Roger_. The lost boys had somehow overpowered the pirates, the captain was cornered.

"Put up your swords, boys," said Peter. "Hook is mine."

"Enough," said Dream, landing on deck. "Peter Pan, you have something that belongs to me."

"Recruiting pixies now, Hook?" said Peter.

"He is not mine," spat Hook.

"I am the master of this land," said Dream.

"This land already has a master," said Peter. "And he only fights people his own size. Or bigger," he added, glancing at Hook.

Dream stood taller until he was a boy again, pale white and dressed in leaves the color of night. "Then I challenge you."

The lost boys gaped – no one challenged Peter.

"Very well," said Peter, just as surprised. "If you are anxious to meet your doom." He pointed to the boys' swords. "Choose your weapon!"

Dream surveyed the cutlasses, sabres and an out-of-place scimitar.

"I choose stories," said Dream.

"Stories?" said Peter, grinning. "Then you have chosen poorly. Shall I tell you of the brush with Little Panther at Slightly Gulch?"

"Yes!" cheered the boys. It was one of their favorites.

"It was a sanguinary affair," said Peter. "We kept switching sides. Or should I tell you of Little Panther's night attack on the house under the ground, when they got stuck in the hollow trees?"

"Yes, that one!" cheered the boys, changing their minds.

"Or the pirates' poisoned cake Wendy wouldn't let us eat?" said Peter. "It hardened to stone, and a codfish tripped over it in the dark. You'll like this one, Hook."

"A misguided plot," said Hook.

"Have you any story that can surpass such adventure?" beamed Peter.

"Only a small one," said Dream. "There once was a boy who flew out the window, but forgot how to fly back. The birds and the pixies took him in. He played the flute so beautifully the pixie queen granted him a boon. He asked to visit his mother. The queen gave him flight, but when he returned the window was closed, and there were iron bars on it, and peering inside he saw his mother sleeping peacefully with her arm round another little boy. That is my story."

"That was a poor adventure," said John.

"No sword-fighting," said the First Twin.

"Yeah, none at all," said the Second.

"What say you, Peter?" asked Tootles.

Peter said nothing. His eyes were red, partly from the story, partly from the realization that he had lost.

"You win, witch-boy," said Peter. "What is to be your prize?"

"The dreamstone," said Dream.

A little of the old light returned to Peter's eyes. "You are free to search, but you will find no such stone on me."

Dream looked him over head to toe. "Mistress Bell, you are of the tinker talent?"

"Yes," Tinker Bell said reluctantly.

"I too am a tinker, after a fashion," said Dream, turning to Peter. "I would have the silver lute pendant you wear on your neck."

"This?" said Peter protectively. "It is only a trinket, practically worthless."

Tinker Bell pouted.

"Then it should be no difficulty for me to claim it as my prize."

Peter looked at his boys. Their bright faces expected no less from their leader.

"You have a good eye," said Peter, handing it over.

Dream turned the pendant in his fingers. "It is finely crafted."

Tinker Bell nodded, vindicated.

The ship heaved as great white scars tore across the air. One showed open prairieland, another alarmed merfolk sitting on a beach, another the Tower Bridge half-suspended, another a grand throne room.

"Sire!" Jessamy cried across the white rift. "The sky is falling here. Not metaphorically."

Dream molded the pendant as if it were clay, a square cut emerald emerging from the silver. "It is time to return things to their proper place."

"Never!" cried the captain, slashing with his hook. The dreamstone disappeared into the sea.

The island shook as the scars deepened.

"James," said Dream, "you are a foolish, foolish man."

#

"We're running out of time," Jessamy called across the rift. "I'm bringing your Tools."

"It's not safe," said Dream.

"Great, you have another plan, then?" said Jessamy.

Dream looked at the waves. "No."

"We'll, waiting around won't be much safer," said Jessamy, taking flight with the pouch in her claws.

Jessamy strained against the Wind that blows between the Worlds, surrounded by the white void. She slowed and faltered, and suddenly Peter was with her. They were enveloped in white.

Peter collapsed onto the deck, edges blurred.

"You idiot!" cried Tinker Bell.

"Are you hurt?" cried Wendy.

Peter rolled over, the pouch clasped in his hands, a single raven feather drifting to the deck. "I couldn't save her," he said.

Grimly, Dream picked up the pouch and undid the strings. First he pulled out a red gem fixed on a chain, which he fastened about his neck. Second he pulled out a tiny helm sculpted from the bones of a dead god. The helm grew as he removed it, and he placed it over his head. Third, he fixed the pouch at his belt. Without a word, he walked overboard and plunged into the sea.

The boys rushed to the railing, but didn't have time to worry. The deck tilted violently as the sea whirlpooled into the nearest rift. They took flight as the bow disappeared into white, but the ship shoved to a stop. Giant white fingers emerged from the sea, lifting the ship on its palm and setting it by the beach. Dream's coat was the dark blue sea, his hair was the night sky. Giant hands clasped the rift edges and dragged them together into a thin white line, then into nothing. He moved on to the next, redrawing the boundaries of reality.

#

Waves washed softly against the hull, but the occupants of the _Jolly Roger_ eyed each other uncertainly.

"What happens now?" asked Tootles, putting the shared thought into words.

"Will you take us home?" asked Wendy.

"The path is closed to me," said Peter, edges still not entirely sharp.

"It is done," said Morpheus, walking man-sized onto the deck. He had removed his helm, but the gem glowed brightly on his chest.

"I wanna go home," said Michael.

"You will, child," said Morpheus. "You and your siblings."

"Can we go too?" asked Tootles.

"Yes," said Morpheus.

"I refuse to go anywhere," said Hook.

"Play time is over, James," said Morpheus. "Time to grow up. You will return to the Waking and make what you will with your life. If you do not wish to be a journalist, perhaps you should try writing."

"What about us?" asked Tinker Bell.

"You have caused much harm in your recklessness," said Morpheus. "And the loss of someone who was in my service, under my protection. These are serious offenses."

"What is to be our punishment?" asked Tinker Bell.

"Your first offense was against Lady Clarion," said Morpheus. "I will leave that decision to her."

"I will not grovel," Peter said defiantly.

"You are an odd creature, Peter Pan," said Morpheus. "Betwixt and between. You wielded the dreamstone, you survived the unraveling. Jessamy suggested my sister's realm was involved. I suspect it is the case, but from before she became Delirium. You have no place in the Waking. You assisted in repairing the harm, and have a done a good service to the dreamers who found their way here. In consideration for this, and pending Lady Clarion's justice, I invite you to stay, if you wish. The dreamstone, however," he added, holding up the emerald, "I will retain."

Peter nodded soberly.

#

Morpheus sat on his throne at the heart of the Dreaming, a black raven feather dancing on the tip of his finger.

Lucius coughed.

"Yes?" said Morpheus.

"I have concluded the tally, lord," said Lucius. "There is only one entity, erm, unaccounted for."

Morpheus looked up. "The Corinthian."


End file.
